First of all- I love the dog park. It may be the happiest place on earth. If you are wondering why I feel this way I suggest you stop reading and do some serious soul searching about your dislike of dogs, and ultimately, yourself.

However, there is a dog park phenomenon that happens once every 6 or 7 trips: two or more dogs bark loudly at each other and growl. You may be correctly thinking to yourself- yea, of course, they’re dogs. But this phenomenon is not about the dogs at all. It’s about people’s ABSURD reactions. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, the aftermath of a “dog altercation” looks like this:

Immediately, people from all corners of the park sprint to the scene. Several will be screaming “no. stop.” and “JACKSON… you come HERE NOW” as if their dogs’ animal instincts will suddenly cease to exist. If you are really lucky, you may see a man fall over himself, small children, and several other dogs while attempting to pull his dog out of the mix. A woman is observed to be clutching her chest in horror, unable to mentally process the situation.

As quickly as this war breaks out, the dogs involved decide to call it a draw and go sniff separate parts of the ground. This can only be viewed as an escape from the shrill over-reactions of their owners. Because, after all, they are dogs.

Then the processing begins. People start petting their dogs saying out loud “I know that must have been sooo scary…” and “you got startled by that other big dog, didn’t you…” This is a passive aggressive way of saying to other dog owners “your dog did it. 100 percent. no question.”

A man gathering himself begins a more direct dialogue with the guy next to him “Did anyone even see what happened here?” Please, I think. You don’t have to do this. It’s over, man. Unfortunately, several women take the bait and chime in. There begins to be a small debate about which dog started all the racket. We are now 15-20 minutes beyond the incident in question. The dogs involved are sniffing each other and prancing around their concerned owners who remain huddled and defensive.

At this point I try to remain far enough away from the conversation that I can block out the debate about “what went down” however it doesn’t always work. Sound travels. Two women appear convinced it was actually “the smaller dog over there” that was feeling “too cornered” and began to want space but the larger brown dog “didn’t really read the warning signs and kept trying to play too aggressively.” The hand gestures really reinforce how emphatically people believe it couldn’t have been THEIR dog that started it all. I mean, “Wishbone doesn’t communicate like that. He’s just so passive…”

We are now approaching the 40 minute mark post dog fight. A woman is STILL clutching her chest and explaining to her friend how hard her heart is pounding. I begin to worry from afar that she will need medical attention. Several other people have attempted to be nonchalant about leaving the park with their dogs while also reporting loudly “I think that’s enough excitement for today…” The magical, carefree aura of the park dissipates with the heavy cloud of panic, blame, and horror that dogs are in fact, dogs.

]]>https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2017/02/22/dog-park-stress/feed/0unknownkkolyerColor Therapy!https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2016/04/03/color-therapy/
https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2016/04/03/color-therapy/#respondSun, 03 Apr 2016 03:23:30 +0000http://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/?p=124I love adult coloring books for mindfulness and relaxation. Such a simple concept that is super effective in taking a break from life’s stressors and creating something beautiful. When I feel stressed or have trouble sleeping I just start right in and if I can detach from what is bothering me-even for a minute-I call it a success! Some of my pages from a coloring book called Creative Coloring Inspirations can be found below:

]]>https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2016/04/03/color-therapy/feed/0kkolyerFullSizeRender-1.jpgFullSizeRender-2.jpgFullSizeRender.jpgDefying Stigma of Anxiety/Depression Through Arthttps://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2016/04/03/defying-stigma-of-anxietydepression-through-art/
https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2016/04/03/defying-stigma-of-anxietydepression-through-art/#respondSun, 03 Apr 2016 02:15:56 +0000http://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/?p=111I came across this amazing link below of visual representations of depression and anxiety depicted in photography. I found this to be so inspiring and accurate. From working with my clients and from my own experiences I can attest firsthand to the role stigma plays in accepting and addressing mental health issues. Spreading the word through art forms enables people to relate to one another and normalizes these struggles. Loving it!

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https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2016/04/03/109/#respondSun, 03 Apr 2016 02:06:11 +0000http://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/?p=109
]]>https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2016/04/03/109/feed/0kkolyer0210993064c74e1d67bb17805aaee91c.jpgThinking About Negative Thinkinghttps://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2015/11/02/thinking-about-negative-thinking/
https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2015/11/02/thinking-about-negative-thinking/#respondMon, 02 Nov 2015 02:03:31 +0000http://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/?p=105I keep thinking about negative thinking. I don’t mean particular negative thoughts like “I hate my job” or “I literally can’t get out of bed I’m so tired today” but the combination of all negative thoughts and their impact in general. I know that thoughts directly impact feelings and behaviors and as a Clinical Therapist I help others identify and alter negative or unhelpful patterns all the time- but when it comes to myself, I am nervous about the level of negativity oozing out of my pores. Part of my fear is that I have been conditioned beginning at birth to view the glass as “half empty.” In my family, it’s genetic. Skepticism and negativity take on lives of their own and encompass every aspect of life. As I am sitting here I can close my eyes and hear my mother commenting on the “plastic face” of an actress in a powerful performance that before her comment, had me captivated. That being said- I need to fight it. I need to fight it because negativity creates a barrier between a person and the world’s beauty. So the question becomes- if I am not being cynical, sarcastic, or “negative” about things in my own life- how on earth do I survive the day?! (see, there it is right there). Sure there are the positive reframes I could apply to hard situations, but when it comes down to it- a lot of things in life just suck. What happens when you have consecutive bad days? Have friends who are experiencing tragedy or pain? Make not one, but lots of mistakes at your job? What is the tipping point for being able to think positively when all of these events happen at once?

One time someone spoke in ernest about how they’re always “making lemonade” out of life’s crap circumstances and are perpetually positive. For me this will definitely be a work in progress!

]]>https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2015/11/02/thinking-about-negative-thinking/feed/0kkolyerSurviving Traffichttps://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2014/04/06/101/
https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2014/04/06/101/#respondSun, 06 Apr 2014 23:57:35 +0000http://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/?p=101As I was stuck in traffic on my daily hellish commute home from work, I began thinking about how drastically people’s attitudes change in the context of individuals as “drivers” versus “passengers.” For example, if you were driving in your car and someone cut in front of you unexpectedly, first your heart may jump a little as you hope your car slows down in time to accommodate their idiocy and then you may start fighting the urge to curse them out. Frankly, I have been known to scream at people from behind the safety of my windshield for much less. But then I realized that when I am riding in the back of a taxi as a passenger, if the taxi cuts off someone at the last minute and receives a honk- well forget it- I’m already thinking “who the HELL do you think you are honking at my taxi driver.” Basically, people completely assume the identity of the driver, even the most reckless ones. After I thought about this, the following day as I inevitably witnessed a verbal altercation between the driver of a car and a taxi who almost ran the driver off the road- I could barely judge the passenger who leaned his entire torso out of the back window of the cab to scream at the innocent party.
]]>https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2014/04/06/101/feed/0kkolyerhttps://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2013/09/11/52/
https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2013/09/11/52/#respondWed, 11 Sep 2013 22:39:41 +0000http://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/?p=52At what point does someone see themselves as an adult? Because I am 27 and still sometimes feel like it may never happen. Oh man, 27. That hurts. I find the feeling mostly rears its’ ugly head in the midst of professional situations. Mostly I treat these as “fake it till I make it” situations, but every once in a while I look around a table I am sitting at during a meeting at work and realize- holy crap, I work here. I’m not a teenager observing a potential career path. I am not an intern writing a one page summary on what it means to be in a meeting. This isn’t take your daughter to work day. And at that point it usually becomes clear that my co-workers have been staring at me for an unknown length of time as I consider all of this. Perfection.

Then there comes the birthdays. I don’t like to admit I am one of those people who freaks out about their birthday and what it means to get older but, guilty. I’d rather be one of those self-assured people who say “I feel good about 29.” Hold it, let me be more clear, I DON’T want to be one of those people. 29 is a horrific number. It is visually unappealing and just lingers on the sidelines of what it really wants to be, which is obviously 30. You get my point, I would like to be able to look on the bright side of these passages of time. Instead, I just focus on what I didn’t get done that seemingly everyone else has accomplished. That, and dying. Every birthday I think about dying. This can NOT be normal. I feel like everyone else is celebrating their current life on their birthdays, while I am worried about getting run over and perishing on my way to the celebration as some type of tragic karmic event.

I have realized that I don’t think it really has anything to do with the number itself, but rather my ridiculous habit of comparing myself to people my age who I consider “real grown ups.” You know who I’m talking about. They are your twenty-something friends who have every part of their lives together. They know how to bake things and what is appropriate to bring to parties and they are always, always dressed perfectly. They share healthy recipes and make recommendations about where to spend saturday mornings. I spend saturday mornings in my bed. Sleeping. Seriously, I consider it successful if I have left the house before 11 am. There was a farmer’s market near my boyfriend’s old apartment and it ran on Saturdays and Sundays until 12 pm. Let’s put it this way- we made it there twice. And during both times, we congratulated each other and felt proud about our grand achievement. “Look at us! We are so productive!” we’d say. If only I could feel that proud the one time a year I’m supposed to be thrilled to be alive. Maybe it’s because I’ve never gotten delicious farm grown organic peaches before 12 pm on my birthday.

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https://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/2013/09/07/2/#respondSat, 07 Sep 2013 18:21:50 +0000http://clearlyfunniest.wordpress.com/?p=2Recently at the Starbucks closest to our apartment (I specify since I frequent multiple ‘bucks locations and will most likely mention them later on), I made a horrific and disturbing discovery. Weirdly enough, I make most of my disturbing discoveries while at Starbucks. This one was bad. It was worse than my original discovery of the Starbucks murderer. It came in the form of an oversized stroller.

As I am minding my business waiting in line for my latte with my boyfriend, I notice a couple in front of us. Two young, fit parents mulling over the posted calories and deciding what pastries to order. I look around to see if anyone is seeing what I’m seeing. A member of NASA on a space station would notice this couple. They had a stroller the size of a tractor-trailer. It was one of those strollers with the car tire rubber wheels and multiple sitting areas that can only be described as separate rooms. The thing was comparable to our apartment. Unfortunately, the stroller was the least of my worries. Sitting inside the stroller was an adolescent sized child. The kid was huge. He was easily 13 and fully functioning- I made sure before I poked my boyfriend in the ribs. “Hey, look at this,” I whispered. He rightfully sensed something inappropriate about to come out of my mouth and quickly said “shh.”

“Look at the SIZE of that kid in there. I can’t believe that kid is still in a stroller!”

“Shhh, they are right in front of us, they can hear.”

“There is NO WAY they can hear me I am whispering. Will you just look?”

“Yeah, I saw, the kid is big.”

“Too big,” I emphasized.

I thought about this for hours. Maybe even days. After establishing the large child was fully capable of walking and had reached all developmental milestones required for a 13 year old, I felt fully entitled to continue my inner monologue about the insanity. Why would the parents not encourage the child to walk? The kid was barely able to fit in the apartment sized stroller- isn’t that a sign? Is this why people hate Americans? Are we obese because of prolonged stroller use? It got so complicated in my head I forced myself to abandon the topic entirely.

About a week later I was sitting at the same Starbucks. At this juncture you are perfectly within your rights to question my credibility based on clearly-too-much time spent in an overpriced coffee chain. Anyway, the stroller rolls in.

“Oh God,” I think. I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this again.

This time I get an even better look at this kid. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Frankly I can’t blame him. If my parents were willing to push me around as an adolescent instead of me walking from museum to museum on my own two legs, damn right I’d take the ride. I can almost sense the kid’s smugness about the whole thing. He knows he is making quite the scene. I immediately texted my boyfriend that there was a second sighting. He was unenthused but threw me a courtesy “Really, wow.”

As the man child was rolled out of the coffee shop, I almost saluted him. Well done, sir. Well done.